


How am I Gonna be an Optimist About This?

by sidium



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:04:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidium/pseuds/sidium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve answers the door, and stares. Neither of them move, eyes locked on the others’. He sees wonder, hesitation and careful, cautious hope in Steve's. He wonders if Steve can see anything in his. Probably not. He probably looks as empty as he feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How am I Gonna be an Optimist About This?

He shows up at Steve's door in the middle of the night _(easy to find an address, once you have a name)_ , and stands there in the hallway for… he’s not even sure. His sense of time is completely screwed up. One of many things about him that is. At least he’s aware of it now. He knocks with his organic hand. He’s not entirely sure why he does that, but it feels important.

Steve answers the door, and stares. Neither of them move, eyes locked on the others’. He sees wonder, hesitation and careful, cautious hope in Steve's. He wonders if Steve can see _anything_ in his. Probably not. He probably looks as empty as he feels.

Suddenly, he realizes Steve's waiting. For an attack, a word of greeting, he doesn't know. He knows there’s an obvious answer, he hunts for a natural response, buried somewhere deep in his mind. Finally, He lets his gaze drop to Steve’s bare feet. Lets the aggression of the moment fade. Lets the tension drop. He’s not here to attack.

He’s here to surrender.

He doesn’t have anywhere else to go _(free of HYDRA now)_ , and Steve… Steve is smoke in his mind. Steve’s there, he can see that, but he can’t get a grip on it. He can grip the feeling Steve leaves in his chest, though. Holds it tight like an anchor.

Hope. Hope and a blind faith that Steve will help.

Even if it is blended with _(so much)_ confusion and frustration… it’s there.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, voice wary.

He answers the only truth he can find. "Not yet."

\-----

Days pass. He comes out of the bathroom, scalp itching like crazy but he ignores it. He ignores how bare he feels.

He sits down at the table, wordlessly starts eating the the food Steve has made for him. Toast, eggs, and bacon. It’s familiar in a way that still feels like deja vu.   
  
It's normal.   
  
_(It’s bizarre.)_

He glances up to see Steve staring at his hair. He knows Steve can see the imperfections, the places he couldn't see well in the mirror cut uneven with the only scissors he could find. Some hair is just a fraction of an inch longer than others, some a fraction of an inch shorter than what he wanted. Which really shouldn't be noticeable, but it is, when you cut it all shorter than an inch.

"Can I ask why?" Steve asks, careful and quiet.

He knows he could shake his head, not say a word and Steve would accept it. Steve accepts everything about him. Steve acceptance the days of silence, where he’s trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say _(what the right answer would be if he actually felt like he were Bucky, when Steve speaks to him)_ , and what he’s supposed to do with himself. He reads his own file a hundred times over. He watches TV, reads every book in the apartment. He knows when he goes for a run, when he leaves the apartment looking for some kind of mental release; he knows that Steve accepts the fact he might not return _(Steve never tries to stop him. Not once)_. He sees the relief on Steve’s face when he comes back, though. Every time.   
  
Steve accepts the nights he wakes up screaming, and Steve sits with him _(not touching, never touching)_ , letting him ask questions. Questions about what happened. (The courage to ask only found in the middle of the night.) Who he was. What he was. Who Steve is and was. Who they were together and what kind of lives they had. Confirmation of memories versus dream-made nightmares. Letting him file the facts away and let the dreams go. _(There’s a lot he knows Steve won’t know. He doesn’t ask. He assumes it’s all true. Even the parts he wishes weren’t. Especially those.)_  
  
Acceptance of him is Steve's greatest downfall, but lately, he's been overwhelmingly grateful for it. It's his second chance _(the one he doesn’t deserve)_ and he knows it.

Steve patiently waits for an answer.

He takes a deep breath, doesn't take his eyes off of the plate in front of him. He knows this might only make sense to him, but he’s willing to share with Steve, the little he can. "I'm not what they made me." He says, voice still hollow, unsure. "But I'm not what you remember, either."

Steve smirks, though not maliciously, but like Steve gets it. If anything, Steve looks... proud. Which makes something inside of him faintly glow, and he's torn between trying to grab at that feeling, and trying to crush it. _(Remnants of the Winter Soldier he can feel inside of himself, a chunk of himself mutilated and reformed. Sometimes, he’s not sure if he wants all of the memories and the expectation of being ‘Bucky’, or if it was easier being a mindless weapon.)_

It’s stupid, really. It’s just a haircut.

But.   
  
He can’t change what he did, he knows that. The people that died by his hand. The “missions” he completed. He can’t change the years spent in a cryo-chamber. He can’t change the fact his arm, a piece of himself, is now high-tech HYDRA science. He can’t change the fact it’s crafted so intricately into his muscles and tendons, there’s no separating the two without extensive, irreparable damage. He can’t change his memories or control how they come back to him. He can’t control what he remembers and what he doesn’t.

But he can control his own damn hair. His own appearance, and maybe, just maybe, he can control how others see him. Just a little.

"Want me to grab a pair of clippers and even it out?" Steve asks, easily, taking a sip of his orange juice.

He falters, just for a single moment. _(Steve shouldn't be so accepting. So easy. So stupid. Does Steve even realize-)_ He wants to be him, no one else’s influence, no one else’s hand molding him. Even if it is just a stupid, poorly-done haircut.

"Not yet."

 

\---

 

Weeks pass. Steve gets called by several people _(past-SHIELD officials, Avengers, people Bucky feels like he should know but can’t place)_ asking for help. Leads on high ranking members of HYDRA. They live up to their motto, he thinks to himself. Every time one is eliminated, it seems there really are two more to take their place. Every time, Steve tells him where he's going _(such trust, telling the ‘Winter Soldier’ where is next mission is, sharing confidential information so readily)_ , and when he hopes to get back. Steve asks him not to leave. Just like every other time.

_(“Please, still be here when I come home. Please.”)_

He nods. Unsure of where else to go. He'd follow Steve, for a lack of better options, but he knows Steve’s friend _(the winged one Steve introduced to him as Sam)_ , doesn't trust him. Sam tried talking to him once. Tried to get him to open up and talk about things _(his past, his transgressions, his future, his plans, Steve)_ , he’d sat silently. He wasn’t _(still isn’t)_ sure he’d ever really want to talk about those things to anyone, and if he did, he’s not sure he’d pick Sam. Sam wants to trust him, he can tell, but Sam's smart, and protective of Steve. He likes Sam for that.

He doesn't trust himself either, anyway. Unsure of what he'd do, faced with HYDRA again. Would something inside him revert? All his progress, faded memories slowly coming back, words, images, feelings. Would they disappear at the snap of someone else's fingers? Would he lose the footing he’s found? Would the shaky ground he’s found for himself crumble, leaving him behind and the Winter Soldier in the wake?

Steve asks if he wants to come with them; an open, easy invitation. Steve trusts him. Completely and unapologetically. He’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. He sees Sam, standing in the doorway, look him up and down. Even when he’s in the street clothes Steve bought for him, nothing more elaborate than jeans and a hoodie _(he likes long sleeves now)_ , Sam still sees him as a threat. Smart man. Sam will have Steve's back, and he can't ask for more than that from anyone.

He sees the hope in Steve's eyes, the hope that 'Bucky' is finally back and ready to go. He's not.

He shakes his head. He'll be here when Steve gets back. He always is, but, "Not yet."

 

\---

 

It’s a quiet day, relaxed and easy, when Steve kisses him. He’s been there, sleeping on Steve’s couch close to six months now. _(Steve asked him if he wanted a room of his own, they could find a new apartment. It wouldn’t be hard. He’d said no. Privacy and peaceful sleep are still foreign to him.)_   
  
It’s not entirely unexpected when it happens, Steve makes his intentions clear. They’re sitting on the couch, watching old movies _(sitting close enough to touch, he can finally touch)_ , and Steve turns to him. He can feel Steve watch as his lips quirk at the jokes on the screen. _(He actually has a sense of humor now, though he knows through Steve, it’s darker than it used to be. Sometimes.)_

He knows before he turns his head what’s going to happen, and despite his better judgement _(his fear, his uncertainty)_ , he does it, anyway. He does it for the simple fact that he wants to. He’s not used to doing things just for that reason. Even after all this time.

Steve’s lips are soft on his, and he returns the kiss without hesitation. It’s good. It feels right, like it was supposed to happen. It’s a simple, chaste kiss, and neither of them push it to be more.

A feeling wells up in his chest, and he tries to ignore it. Tries to focus on Steve, the one thing he’s sure of in this world. The problem is he can’t remember.

He can remember nights curled up with Steve under thick blankets in a ratty little apartment with no heat. He remembers dancing with girls, and the slick, confident attitude he had coming naturally that girls were helpless to fall for. He remembers smooth-talking the landlord into letting them pay rent a few weeks late. He remembers watching Steve draw on any scrap of paper he could find. He remembers he’s allergic to peanut butter, and that he nearly died once because of it. He remembers the odd jobs he took to pay the bills and he remembers the worse jobs he suffered through to pay for Steve’s medicine. He remembers laughing at Steve’s jokes and glowing bright when Steve laughed at his. He remembers so much, it’s overwhelming some days, because there are still _(so many)_ blank spaces in his mind.   
  
But he can’t remember ever kissing Steve before, ever wanting to. He might’ve, though. _(He doesn’t know. He can’t remember.)_ It doesn’t know why that’s important, he doesn’t know so many things anymore, but it is. He wants to know if this happened before, or if this is completely new for both of them. Wants to remember on his own, without being told.

He pulls away, ducks his head down. His heart is beating out of his chest and he can hear it in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts, still so close he can feel Steve’s breath on his skin, “I shouldn’t have-”

He raises a hand to silence Steve and grins, ruefully. “It’s okay, don’t apologize.” He says, _(he’s proud of how far he’s come. How words come naturally to him, that he can actually banter with Steve now, fill the empty silences instead of leaving them open and blank)_ , “Just… not yet.”

 

\---

 Months pass.

“I want to come with you this time.” He says, standing in the doorway of Steve’s bedroom, watching Steve pack his gear for the new mission with his usual confidence and precision. SHIELD may be gone now, and Steve may be out of the Army, but military habits die hard, and Steve will never stop being Steve.

He’s thanked God for that more than once, now.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, not cruel or doubtful, but reassuring. Letting him know no one is pressuring him into this but himself. He knows he answers to no one, not Steve, or Sam, or the other Avengers who still walk wary around him when they come over, or even HYDRA, anymore. _(Though, honestly, he knows he’d answer to Steve every time, if anyone ever asked him to.)_

“If you’ll let me, yeah.” Is what he finally gets out.

He wants to go with Steve, he really does, and not just for lack of better options.   
  
He can’t change what he did, but maybe. Maybe there’s a penance to be paid here. Maybe there’s a chance to make up for a fraction of what he’s done. His past might be dark, blank pieces where there should be happy ones, deadly ones where there shouldn’t be any; but maybe he can decide his future. Maybe he can prove to Steve _(Sam, the Avengers, himself, everyone)_ that the trust Steve gave him wasn’t misplaced. That he deserves it. Maybe he can take the Winter Soldier apart inside himself, find the useful pieces _(his new arm, his tech skills, his fighting abilities)_ , utilize them for a worthier purpose than manipulative death, and let the rest die with time.

Maybe.

He realizes Steve’s been talking while he’s been thinking, and he raises his head when Steve simply asks, “Bucky?”

Bucky hesitates, then answers, “Yeah. I think so.”

 


End file.
